I miss being surrounded.
I miss seeing the jagged pieces on the horizon.
I miss driving through the desert just as the sun begins to set and the sky turns this hazy pink-purple and the mountains look like pieces of construction paper, like God or whatever higher power just tore down the page, put them down and said, Here, these are called mountains.
I miss the softer, rounded ranges of Reno.
I miss the twisted turns as you drove to and around the lake.
I miss seeing the snow on the peaks long after summer has begun.
I miss crisp, clear air.
It’s hard to explain to people who don’t know. You know what I mean. Know.
I miss mountains.